


till it's gone

by crownedatthecrossroads



Category: Clockwork (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm so sorry, Misery, Pain, like eventually it'll be much better but i swear to god the road there is just, really a lot of fckin angst do not expect happy healthy relationships, slowest burn in the history of slow burns, stupidly detailed and tbh i already have the first 15 or so chapters planned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:17:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6674068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedatthecrossroads/pseuds/crownedatthecrossroads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ain't much i can do, but i do what i can<br/>but i'm not a fool, there's no need to pretend<br/>just because you got yourself in some shit<br/>doesn't mean i have to come deal with it</p><p>ain't much i can do, but i do what i can<br/>but what can i do if i do till it's gone?</p><p>alexander/oc. incredibly slow burn because it's alex and that is the only kind of burn there is with him. will mostly deal with a lot of past hurt and betrayal that's finally being brought to light, and the conflict that follows being forced to address it. will follow canon as much as possible. don't let cog's sass mislead you. it is angst. it is all angst. prepare for pain.</p><p>brief hiatus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the road that you take when you're looking for a shortcut

**Author's Note:**

> alexander/oc. incredibly slow burn because it's alex and that is the only kind of burn there is with him. will mostly deal with a lot of past hurt and betrayal that's finally being brought to light, and the conflict that follows being forced to address it. will follow canon as much as possible. don't let cog's sass mislead you. it is angst. it is all angst. prepare for pain.

**author's note: alright, hi! so to open, this _is_ going to be alex/oc, but considering who he is as a person it's going to be the slowest slow burn ever to exist, honestly. in fact, it'll be 90% pain and 10% sass until it even begins to get to that point, and probably will continue to be long after. updates will be as frequent as circumstance allows; so as to not be overly canon-divergent, some chapters will be postponed until the next comic update. there may also be some plot-related revisions should what i have planned conflict with the canon developments yet to come.**

**in the meantime, you can check out audrey's information (it's ridiculously extensive and detailed, and is in no way necessary to read; it'll just give some insight into her character and some hints as to what might happen and what already has) over here at tillitsgxne.tumblr.com. i should be working on the next chapter throughout the next few days, and it'll be up for sure sometime this week. please leave a comment to let me know what you think so far!**

\---

**"The last errand you had me do got me attacked by some _weird_ , cliché jester guy with a _dumb hat_!" ** The young Mercian argued, arms waving with his frustration and awe as he all but yelled at his 'boss'. Since arriving in Arcadia, Cog was consistently shocked by how _utterly ridiculous_ the place and its people truly were. No number of warnings from his old friends could have possibly prepared him for the raging sea of eccentricities this new development had thrown him into; and Alexander was the cherry on top of this **unbelievable** _shit sundae_. He wasn't just infuriating; no, this pompous, preposterous man treated the outrageous occurrences in this city like the _epitome_ of normalcy, and the Mercian boy would hardly be surprised if he asked him to assassinate the emperor himself with as little concern as he'd demonstrate if he'd asked for his mail delivered. Cog was very, very quickly beginning to feel like he was the last sane person in a whole country of crazy. 

**"So _excuuuuse_ me if I'm not _eager_ to do another one!"** He concluded, crossing his arms across his chest in an act of ineffective defiance. His arguments, however, fell on Alexander's usual deaf ears, and the blond man simply offered him a disinterested and disapproving glance as he continued about his work. _It was like talking to a rock._ This was the eighth time today that the younger boy had decided something to be his most infuriating quality; lists wouldn't even _work_ on this guy. _Everything was at the top of it_. Fixing him with a solid glare, the young artisan waited with unwavering irritation for his concerns to be dismissed.

**"I would _hardly_ call that an attack,"** the ambassador soberly stated, the tone in his voice leaving little room for argument. **"And I will remind you that the _reason_ for this errand is to _nullify_ his involvement with you. There is no reason whatsoever for you to be so incessantly petulant."** Shuffling the papers on his desk into an organized pile, the man finally turned his gaze to his assistant, hands neatly folded on the desk in front of him as his cold eyes looked on Cog expectantly.

**"Why can't you do it, then? If _you_ know this lady, why am _I_ the one who has to go talk to her?"** The Mercian demanded, arms uncrossing as his expressive body language made his growing frustration very clear. Arcadia had been nothing but trouble for him, and none of this should have been his problem to begin with; he was hardly interested in putting himself right back into the path of _insanity_ all over again. 

**"How simple you must believe my life to be if you think I have time to pursue such trivial matters myself,"** the diplomat retorted, mild displeasure clear in his voice as he leered across the desk at the younger boy. **"I had hoped you would at least recognize what the duties of an assistant _were_ by this point."**

**"You kidnapped me! You can't go around calling your _captive_ your assistant just because you make him go around doing your _chores_!"** The artisan all but exploded, _incredulous_ at just how much this man could justify and normalize for the sake of 'peace'. If everyone kept acting like this situation was any kind of normal, he was going to lose his mind.

**_"Enough,"_** Alexander ordered, raising his voice only enough to make his impatience with the boy clear. **"I have neither the interest nor the time for this conversation. You will do as you're told. My patience with your tantrums is growing thin, Kleinschmidt."** His words were spoken with a sternness that warned against any opposition, and the noticeable narrowing of his eyes when Cog opened his mouth to argue was more than enough to close it.

**"Yeah, _okay_ , 'sir', fine! I'm going. Have fun with your _super_ important _paperwork_ ,"** the exasperated boy agreed, gesturing sarcastically at the pile of paper before huffing loudly and promptly leaving his office. Arguing with the delegate had yet to get him anywhere good, usually just digging him deeper into this hole of a situation he was trapped in, and his stubbornness tended to be won over by his frustration when it came to dealing with the blond.

The tired diplomat leaned forwards with a sigh as he watched the Mercian leave; with all that hung in the balance, it was more than mildly frustrating to see the situation be treated so inconsequentially, particularly by the source of his troubles himself. But it would do him no good to explain the weight of the situation to the boy; after all, he'd be equally unwilling to help -- just more informed. He hardly needed his assistant to be any more of a walking liability than he already was. Either way, there was no doubt in his mind that the vulnerability Cog presented would be enough to manipulate and sway his old cohort into unreservedly offering him her assistance. 

\---

The resonating _clang_ of her hammer hitting metal had become a soothing chaos to the blacksmith that elicited it; the life she'd built for herself now was immeasurably different than the one she'd grown up in, and throwing herself into that change all at once had eventually led her to accept that change was the only thing that stayed the same. It was consistent. _She could count on it_. But that revelation couldn't change who she was, and routine was still so inherently important to her that her mind fought to retain it even when it was impossible to maintain. And that sound, the clash of two powerful constituents breaking and rebuilding to create something beautiful; that was the part of her days that gave her life. When one lived alone after a life of constant companionship of some kind, the isolation that became so integral in his or her life could throw their sense of reality into a downward spiral. It was an easy delusion to adopt that your world was separate from that of everyone else, that the separation you'd been forced into kept them from ever affecting you again.

She saw life through glass, living and interacting behind that barrier that made it all seem unreal; like her days were a formality she was expected to complete like a checklist, but never really hers. She was separate, and nothing could touch her. _But neither could she._

Her delusions kept her safe, but they kept her cold. It was a sacrifice she wasn't sure she'd wanted to make, but one that had made itself nonetheless. Even so, the warmth of her fire and the metal she welded brought her peace, and reality seeped through into the creations she made each day. They were beautiful, because they were _passion_ ; the last passion she still had.

It had taken her a long, long time to rebuild what had broken. The photographs of her parents were hidden away; she kept them, and she always would, but she could never look at them. Her walls were still fragile, and her scabs were not yet scars; the longer she looked, the more desperate she became to bring back the past and live in it once more. It was a dangerous temptation, and not one in which she often indulged. But sometimes it simply couldn't be helped, and their memory infected her mind like a virus that threatened every antibody she'd developed; and emotion blotted out all else, leaving her defenseless once more.

They hadn't deserved the fate they'd been given. The magic in their blood shouldn't have earned them _death_ ; they were good people, she argued to no one. They had done nothing wrong. What they did, they controlled, and never used it to hurt. They were aristocrats in high standing, and their genetics alone burnt all of their hard work to ash; _who_ they were no longer mattered, and they were _vermin_ because of _what_ they were. 

And she was the same. _But she had been spared_. He couldn't help, Alexander had told her. It would cause a public outrage, he reminded, if he acted in defense of two magic users; his political standing would be in jeopardy. After so many years spent in college as his friend, it was that moment that showed her once and for all that that held no value to the man with whom she now spoke. Whatever had happened to him, whatever made him lock himself away; it had changed him, and it had changed them. His priorities were clear. She was not amongst them. Her family would be hanged, and he would allow it. When she left his office that day, she had left him behind with it; his effortless dismissal became mutual, and she wiped him from her mind like a chalkboard that was left simply blank.

When they told her that she was to be released, she couldn't understand. For a brief moment, he wrote himself back into her life, and she allowed herself to hope that he had changed his mind; but her parents' lifeless bodies hanging outside nipped that wish in the bud, and it was the last time she would ever let herself hope again. 

They had found evidence, she was informed, that she wasn't related to them by blood; this was a lie, she knew, and she knew it was his. Their property, their inheritance, they explained, would be forfeited with this development, but she would be freed; their will left her the ownership of the small blacksmithing shop they'd bought her years before, and it was the only thing left that she had. 

When she moved in and spent her first night in the remodeled shop she multi-purposed as a home, she decided that she should've died with them. If they deserved death for who they were, she deserved to be hanging there with them. But he had taken that from her, and she would never forgive him for that.

The life she'd made for herself out of that chaos was stable, but she was fragile; she had broken into pieces, and glue could give the illusion that she was fixed, but it would never be the truth. 

But she would never stop putting those pieces back together, and the intricate, finished sword she now held in her gloved hands was proof. If she could still create, she could still heal. There was still something left in her to grow from. She refused to let anyone or anything snuff that out. With a rekindled sense of determination, the woman put her calloused hands back to work, moving onto her next piece with ease and serenity.

\---

The disgruntled artisan stomped begrudgingly through the streets, tired eyes all but glaring up a buildings as he searched for the address Alexander had neatly written out for him; the sun was already well on its way to going down, and he was sure the ambassador wouldn't hesitate to scold him for taking so long to complete such a 'simple' task. Well, _he_ lived here; _he_ knew where things were. _He_ was hardly in a place to decide what's easy and what's not. _He--_

His mental reprimanding of the man came to a reluctant pause when the numbers on a small, two-story building matched those on the note he was currently crushing in his irate grip. The Mercian came to a quick stop, relief flooding through him as he looked it up and down, shoulders falling in exhausted relaxation. _At least he was getting somewhere._ The building was simple, not overly fancy or decorated; its white brick walls were well-maintained, and a gold paint accented it from the window panes and door frame. 'Letztetal' was written tastefully on the sign that adorned the space above the door that Cog hesitantly pushed open, a small bell ringing upon his entry.

A woman (the right one, the artisan hoped) was hunched over a large, open fireplace, goggles covering her eyes as she concentrated wholly on the metals she was welding. The sharp noise of the bell was enough to shock her into dropping the hammer she'd been working with altogether, jumping openly at the sound. It clattered to the ground with a resonating echo, but the blacksmith's attention was now focused entirely on the intruder instead.

Breath steadying, she released an exhausted sigh, pushing the thick goggles up to her forehead as she brought her eyes to her guest's. 

**"I thought I locked that,"** the craftswoman commented, more to herself than the boy who now stood in her doorway. **"We're closed."** She stated flatly, etiquette faltering as her fatigue grew more prominent. 

**"What? But it's only --"** Cog argued quickly, pulling a watch from his pocket in disbelief. It couldn't have taken him that long to find the place--

**"-- 7:30, yes. I close at 5. If you come back tomorrow, I'll be happy to help you then. For now, I must ask that you leave."** Her words, stern as they may have been, held much less malice or irritation and much more genuine exhaustion. She offered no hostility; she was just driven by the overwhelming need to be left to work in peace. She hadn't taken a day off in weeks, which was entirely her own fault; but overworking herself so consistently had more lasting effects than she'd thought it would, and every bit of her being was _desperate_ to just _stop_ for a while.

**"No, wait -- I'm not here to buy anything, I --"** the younger artisan started, electing to reword his motivations when she raised a skeptical brow. **"Are you Audrey Blumenthal?"** he asked, closing the door behind him and making no move to leave as she had requested. He was hardly willing to return to the fortress not only late, but empty-handed; his tolerance for the diplomat that he would have to report his failure back to grew weaker every second.

**"Yes,"** the woman replied, voice tinged with irritation as she ran a calloused hand through her hair. **"Are you going to tell me what you want?"**

**"I'm here to-- Well, the Ambassador sent me to come talk to you; I'm his new assistant."** A quiet _'unfortunately'_ was added as an afterthought, prompting a brief snort of laughter from the otherwise serious woman he addressed.

**"My condolences,"** she began, tone much lighter than it was moments before as she allowed herself a quick quip of sarcasm. **"But if he sent you to ask something of me, I'm very, _very_ disinclined to listen."** The prompt declination was followed by a quiet exhale, and she struggled to keep the sense of dread that followed his words from being entirely obvious. Even so, it cemented itself within her, for she knew that his interest in her never brought good things. It was an unwelcome, terrifying feeling, how her body reacted to the mere mention of him; she was terrified when she wished she was angry, and her logical mind was filled with irrational thoughts and worries of what might come. 

**"Yeah, _really_ , I get where you're coming from,"** the Mercian replied quickly, expression showing genuine sympathy and mutual exasperation. **"I'd just tell him to bite me if I could, I really would, but can you please just listen? I don't want to go back to Mr. _Sassbassador_ over there with more bad news and listen to more of his 'Cog, do I have to do everything myself?'s and 'Cog, it's _soooo_ simple for me, a fancy diplomat with pretty hair who's lived in Arcadia his _whole life_ , so why can't someone who _literally_ just got here do it just as well?'s--"**

The Mercian cut off his own rant, breathing out an aggravated sigh; judging from her vaguely amused expression, he was pretty sure his point got across already either way.

**"You don't even have to say yes if you really can't do it, but please just hear me out?"** Even in his tired, agitated state, the boy managed to pull the most convincing puppy-dog eyes Audrey had seen in quite some time. When his request was met with silence, his shoulders immediately drooped in defeat as he moved to reopen the door, but was stopped as she finally nodded, gesturing to some couches next to the display windows. A wide grin spread across his features as he animatedly crossed the room to take a seat, waiting with renewed hope as the woman put away her tools and cleaned up her workstation. 

Resigning herself to taking the night off -- as she was sure this would _not_ be a short conversation -- Audrey stopped at one of her glass cabinets to pour herself some brandy before finally joining her guest at the small meeting area she used to negotiate with clients. It took every ounce of her self-control not to plop down gracelessly onto the far side of the corner couch; better judgement pushed her to sit neatly instead, crossing her legs as she swirled the drink idly in her hand.

**"Your name is Cog, then?"** she confirmed, relaxing her back against the soft surface of the seat. 

**"Yeah, I'm Cog-- ...Actually, you know what, every time I've introduced myself here, some crazy, terrible thing had to happen afterwards, so I'm gonna stick with just 'Cog' this time."** His exasperation with the recent events was clear in his words, and the woman across from him nodded in agreement. She could relate, in a way. 

**"On with it, then. What does he want?"** she questioned flatly, wasting no time in getting to the point. The Mercian almost openly grimaced, barely holding himself back from asking if _everyone_ in this place was as rude as Alexander. With a discontented sigh, he dismissed it nonetheless and continued.

**"Well, he brought me over from Mercia to be his assistant, and the fact that he 'outsourced' seems to be bugging a lot of people over here. Actually, mostly just this one guy. Big green hat, kinda looks like it's about to come to life and eat you. Really dramatic. Always looks like he's about to sing his own villain intro."** He stopped briefly for confirmation, and the woman nodded vehemently. **"Yeah, him. Anyway, he's been a huge pain lately, and Alexander wants to hire you to 'watch over me' until it's all worked out."**

**"Why didn't he just hire an assistant that didn't need a bodyguard? Better yet, someone who wouldn't be causing that conflict altogether?"** Her questions were thoughtlessly rude, and while she'd meant them to be practical and far from insulting, the dramatic change in the boy's expression quickly proved that they hadn't come across that way. 

**"I'm not causing any conflict, okay? This isn't my fault! I didn't ask to be his dumb assistant, I didn't even _want_ to be--"** he cut himself off before he had the chance to say too much, sighing loudly. His expression warned her not to ask. **"I'm _not_ some kid, and I _can_ take care of myself. I don't _need_ a bodyguard, and it wasn't _my_ decision to come here tonight." ** While his voice shook with his frustration, there was a hint of hurt in his eyes. If he wasn't being treated like a child too incapable to do anything right, he was being treated like he was just too young to handle 'adult' things. Just once, he wanted someone to talk to him like they would anyone else, not like he was just some little kid who wouldn't understand. His emotions were clearly written across his features, and the woman across from him frowned, taking a slow sip from her drink.

**"I apologize. I didn't mean to come across as if I were blaming you; it just doesn't seem like Alexander to make himself more trouble when he could've just killed two birds with one stone. If things aren't the most efficient they could possibly be, there's something we aren't being told; suspicion is always justified when it comes to him."** Her words were genuine, as was the apologetic expression she now wore; whatever circumstances this boy was dealing with were much more complicated than she'd given them credit to be. Consequentially, she supposed it was only right to give him more credit, too.

The Mercian's tension dissipated slightly, shoulders falling as he let out a deep breath. Amber eyes fell to the floor, tired just from considering that his captor had more in store for him that, _of course_ , he was keeping to himself. Because his future livelihood was certainly not _his own business_. Cog found himself rolling his eyes at a conversation that hadn't even happened yet, and lamented over this mess of a life Alexander had forced him into. Shaking his head as he dismissed his internal Alex-beating, the artisan raised his gaze to that of the woman he now addressed.

**"Well, if he's hiding something, I'd be the last person to know. All I _do_ know is that he insisted I come find you and ask for your help, and then bring you back to the fortress to talk to him,"** he concluded with a sigh, looking at the blacksmith expectantly. Hopefully.

_With puppy-dog eyes. Again._

Audrey released a sigh of her own, glaring down at him in defeat as she leaned back in her seat. Truly, the thought of seeing the blond man again after so long brought about far too many unpleasant emotions; the most prominent of which being anxiety and apprehension. But she knew better than to think that declining his request would stop him from getting whatever it was that he wanted. It would only exacerbate an already ridiculously inconvenient situation. And whoever this 'Cog' was, the last thing she wanted was for him to suffer needlessly because of her fear. Downing the rest of her drink all at once (in preparation, one might say), she proceeded to give the young boy a begrudging nod, standing from her seat as she set her glass on the table that separated them. 

**"Fine. Let's go."**


	2. you handle your own when you become a man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the dysfunctionality and wild unhealthiness begins. if you're impatient and want to know the circumstances behind alex and audrey's past involvements, you can look over at tillitsgxne.tumblr.com and find them near the end. it'll clear things up, but also spoil a lot, so it's up to you. 
> 
> please let me know what you think of this so far! i'll probably have some more chapters ready and churned out within the next few days.

The discomfort and unease she felt had settled in her stomach, as solid and unmovable as the fortress they now approached. She had hoped that the drink would ease her nerves, but she felt no relief at all as her breathing quickened with every step she took. And what _infuriated_ her the most was that she couldn't understand why. She had long since accepted the past as just that, and the man she with whom she would speak presented her no threat; that was her hope, at the very least. But it quickly became clear to her that it didn't matter how well or thoroughly she had moved on from the past; her body shook and her heart pounded because seeing him again, after all this time, would tear that wound open with a ferocity that might as well destroy the scar altogether. And she wasn't sure she could handle that again.

_But she had to._

The boy, Cog; he'd been talking all throughout their walk, though not excessively. He was far more polite and personable than her first impression had led her to believe, and she was sure that were the circumstances even slightly different, his words would've had her full attention. But as it was, they were background noise to the ringing in her ears, and the best she could do was nod along politely. 

With her emotions so often came panic; to her, it was like a barrage of noise all hitting her at once, blotting out all else with incomparable ferocity. And were she able to decipher it, make sense of it, form sentences and meaning out of the sounds that came without end, Audrey had no doubt that she would manage perfectly fine. But the uproar was always in a language she would never understand, and to see past it was all but impossible.

The emotion that came with seeing Alexander once more was the equivalent to willingly putting herself in a pit of screaming, deafening her with decibels that were simply immeasurable; her feelings were few and far between, but they debilitated her like nothing else. Everything in her world was simple cause and effect, input and output; she could plan it, predict it, manipulate it. But emotion, through her perception, was like skipping straight to the effect and no semblance of a cause; and if she couldn't determine the source, she couldn't eliminate or deal with it. _She couldn't make it go away._

To function, she pushed it far away; but even then, her body felt it _doubly_ for her. As they crossed the bridge and she sealed her fate, she felt her shaking hands grow numb while she struggled to steady her breaths, not to mention her steps. Judging from her company's expression, it was far more obvious than she had hoped. She would have to do better if she wanted to face him with her pride intact. 

_And she would._

The time between their entry to the fortress and their arrival at his office was lost altogether, but all that mattered was now. Her magic flared within her, warming her cold apprehension and soothing her nerves. With the iciness in her eyes, though, no one would ever have guessed. She was prepared.

Seeing him nearly stopped her in her steps, however, even if it didn't show. It was like walking into a brick wall. When apprehension became reality, distant fears became distinct possibilities. Her body vibrated with adrenaline, and she was beginning to feel like a sheep walking straight into the wolf's den. 

**"Have a seat."**

She obliged, seating herself promptly in the chair in front of his desk. Blue eyes scanned him, taking in every feature; he looked good, she decided, though that had always been true. But the bags under his eyes and the poorly concealed conflict within them suggested otherwise, and the longer she looked at him, the less she felt she knew him. Something had happened. He had changed. 

_But so had she._

While her cold eyes took in all they could, Audrey was still peripherally aware that Cog had been dismissed; that was the ambassador's intention, anyway, but the boy disregarded him entirely and stood his ground beside her chair. She couldn't help but smile. It wasn't until she was next addressed that her attention fully returned, however, and it took her by surprise; _the ringing was so much louder than their voices._

 **"I'm sure my assistant has already explained to you the reason for this meeting, so I will keep my own reasoning brief. Recent events have brought to light the need for _further_ protection,"** he began, voice growing noticeably more severe as he addressed the green-clad _problem_ ; clearly, he was interfering with the envoy's work, but that came as no surprise. The Ringleader was nearly always interrupting someone's, after all. 

Part of her noted how professionally he held himself, how he looked at her with such undeniable disconnect; it had been years, and he treated it like minutes. It was more than that. He treated it like they'd never known each other at all. He treated it like a business transaction with a perfect stranger. 

He hadn't even greeted her, acknowledged all that had happened in the past or the time that had passed. He'd skipped over it entirely like it had never happened. It was like jumping straight to the sequel of a book without ever having read the first. It was uncomfortable. Unsatisfying. She _wanted_ it to be addressed, even if it only worsened the conflict. Having it ignored altogether felt inherently wrong, like there was something vital missing yet that she was just expected to do without.

But he continued, and she didn't stop him.

**"I know you to be more than capable of handling the matter. I would much rather send one of Kasper Hawkins' men and avoid including anyone else in this _ridiculous_ matter, but considering the circumstances, that would likely do nothing but exacerbate the conflict. You, however, are external to the dispute altogether, and your involvement would raise neither questions nor further discord."**

His words made perfect sense, and the confidence with which they were said disinclined her to do anything but believe him; but a silver tongue could spin lies as easily as it spoke the truth, and she had learned that many years ago. His logic wasn't flawed in the slightest, but the circumstances raised suspicion that his manipulation would not sway her to dismiss.

****

**"It's always so hard to tell what is brass and what is gold with you, Alex. Before this conversation goes much further, I'm making it clear that my answer is 'no'."** Her words were strong, unwavering; but his expression was the same. He was unfazed. That was hardly a good sign for her; he was still confident that he had won before the battle had even begun. 

She shouldn't be afraid of him or what he intended, she told herself that over and over; she could handle her own, and she was sure he wouldn't make her fears become a reality. Audrey forced herself to continue, repeating her reassurances like a mantra as if it would force them to become the truth.

****

**"Your reasoning is flawless, I admit, but I see no reason for the first person you turn to to be _me_. Not only have we not spoken in _years_ , but you're fully aware of my bias towards and _against_ you; it seems wildly unproductive and out of character for you to approach someone you'd need to try so hard to convince. You don't shave a square down to fit it into a circle, you just get a circle and save yourself the trouble. I'd prefer it if we could skip the pretense, and you would tell me what it is you want." **

She was cold. She didn't back down. But all her words earned her was a thinly veiled smirk.

****

**"Should there be any hidden motivation behind my actions, it's hardly something you're in any place to concern yourself with. After all, considering your situation, you should consider yourself lucky I bothered with the _technicality_ of asking for your cooperation. You would do well to take yourself down a peg and _appreciate_ this _formality_."** His words flowed seamlessly, weightlessly; it was as if he was discussing nothing more than the weather. His smooth, effortless disconnect _stung_ ; it was so easy, now, for him to use what would hurt her the most against her. He didn't even need to think about it. Things had changed. Her place, now, was clear. And it was hypocritical of her to be upset, because his had, too; but her throat clenched so tightly she was sure she would vomit.

She wasn't looking at the man she had known. And she had realized that years before, but the look in his eyes and the harsh bite behind his words felt like a kick in the teeth, and her breath caught in her chest. She felt her lungs constrict, and with violent abruptness, every fibre of her being _screamed_ at her to run. The man in front of her was a stranger, and a stranger with leverage; she had walked into this office prepared to negotiate with an acquaintance at the very least, but instead met someone else entirely. That realization came with unadulterated terror, because she had _everything_ to lose, and he had _nothing_ to hold him back from taking it all away.

 **"You've changed,"** she replied simply, voice hardly reflecting the inner turmoil that burned within her. It surprised her how easily it came to her, too; to dismiss the gravity of the situation and continue on unaffected. She did it to protect. She wondered why he did.

 **"The pot calling the kettle black; I'm sure it's an idiom you're familiar with, Audrey, yes?"** His expression remained unchanged, the smugness hiding just beneath the surface not faltering in the slightest. For a moment, all she felt was the need to _break that_. To shock him into silence just to see his mask fall. All she wanted was the satisfaction.

_But she would get none._

Her gaze left his in an act of defeat, and the blacksmith didn't miss the stormy expression the young artisan standing beside her wore. His conflict was obvious. She wanted to understand. But now was not the time.

 **"Give me the contract and the pen. I'm sure you have them ready."** Her tone was tinged with a _challenge_ , a warning; don't count your chickens before they hatch, she told him wordlessly. _I'm sure you know the idiom._

 **"The wisest decision, all considered. Hardly a surprise. Regardless, your cooperation is much appreciated; I don't like to waste my time."** The smirk, now, was not limited to his lips; it tainted every word he spoke, and he _relished_ in his victory. It infuriated her how effortlessly he'd won, and the condescending 'compliment' he offered her all but elicited a _hiss_. It took all of her self control not to _spit_ on the paper he slid over to her, and she made that clear through the malice of her glare.

She signed quickly, neatly; expressionless, she passed it back, as if simply completing a small transaction she could move on from and continue as normal. He graciously accepted it, crossing his hands together on top of it as if in satisfaction.

**"You will, of course, be paid for your work. Your wages will be generally minimal, but should your duties conflict with your primary source of income, you will be compensated accordingly. You will accompany Cog whenever he leaves the fortress, and protect him should anything go awry."**

He continued on, offering further explanation, brief formalities; they were salt in her wound, and she retained and promptly dismissed them. A prison cell was still a prison cell no matter how tastefully decorated. Besides, the ringing in her ears was louder than any human being could speak, and she couldn't keep her focus anywhere else. She had come up here with confidence, with a plan, and it had failed within seconds. Her chest rose and fell more quickly than it had in some time, and her eyes burned with tears like acid forced not to fall. It had happened so quickly, so unnaturally quickly. It didn't feel real. She had everything and then nothing in a matter of seconds, and she hadn't even seen it coming. 

She trusted him not to do it. She trusted him. She wanted to be furious with herself, but she only felt cold. She felt something in her drop. _She would never learn._

The walk home was silent; she was alone, a luxury she couldn't appreciate more. Everything had changed, she noted, the sinking feeling in her stomach returning like roots taking hold of her being as a whole. _Nothing would be the same._ In one day, with one conversation, everything was different. He had broken down every repair she spent years reinforcing within a matter of minutes, and she was left to rebuild from the debris.

__

_He had left her in pieces._


	3. you become a man when you handle your own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here have no dialogue at all whatsoever lmao. it's also a little short, but i like there to be context whenever possible before conflict is exacerbated, as i find it gives it more weight. i also revamped the first two chapters a bit for the same reason, so if you read this before april 29th, i would suggest you reread those two because context is important.
> 
> the blog for this fic on tumblr has been updated to include actual stuff other than just audrey's information. i post chapters over there now as well, and have a 'soundtrack' page which is essentially 'i was listening to these while i wrote this so listen to them and feel pain'. i'll also post fic-related updates there, too. 
> 
> let me know what you guys think!

To say he didn't care at all for the woman he now persuaded would be both an insult and a lie; as warped and questionable as his morals may be, he still had values, priorities. And as cold and uncaring as he so carefully held himself to be, the ambassador was capable of as much emotion as anyone else. In his case, circumstance simply dictated that he prioritize logic far above it. He didn't have enough time left to be wasting it on trivialities and insignificant complications; emotion was an optional luxury that he could no longer afford. There were more important things to focus his time on.

More important than him.

Audrey saw the world through glass, holding herself in an untouchable reality entirely separate; Alexander saw the world as clay he could mold into whatever he wanted, and he saw himself as the same; but he was running out of time before that clay dried, and he wanted to salvage the final result.

And he could. He knew that. Sacrifices, he realized, were simply an unavoidable necessity to prevent his death. The comfort and happiness of those around him were the first thing to lose their priority; unless he needed it to accomplish his goal, he had no use for it. If the number was not a part of the equation, the envoy didn't have time for it. He had to get from point A to point Z with a speed _no one_ could possess, and it took him hardly any time at all to see nothing but how to quicken his progress. The more points he could skip, the more chance he had at succeeding. The longer he spent with this magic inside him, the less he could think about anything else.

Each day that passed fueled his fear more, pushing him closer and closer to the edge of desperation. The more desperate became, the more he was willing to sacrifice to rid himself of this ailment. 

Emotion was buried deeper and deeper, forgotten more with each layer he build to imprison it. He didn't want to die. And that burning, _festering_ obsession blotted out all that hindered it, feeling and connection and the luxuries of living dismissed the more afraid he became. It wasn't long before the way he got from one point to another no longer mattered at all, so long as it was quick and efficient and he was closer.

It wasn't long before he felt no guilt or remorse at all when he used and hurt the people around him to get ahead; he would deal with that once he'd solved this problem, but until that point, he didn't have the time. 

He told himself he was simply repressing it, burying and postponing it; but each time he looked in the mirror to see a man much colder than the last, he couldn't help but wonder if he was losing it altogether.

But even that was an obstacle, and he would not let it impede his work. He had come so far; he wouldn't let it be in vain. 

The _audacity_ , he criticized, these people had for condemning his methods; of course he had no time for them -- _he didn't even have time for himself_. How could they expect him to feed them when he himself was starving?

It almost offended him how disdainfully she regarded him when he threatened her; she, of all people, should understand the dismissal of hurdles in favor of accomplishing one's end goal. She had no right to look down on him for his methods as if she'd have done any different. She had no right to condemn him for changing when she had no idea how much pain had brought him to this point. She had always prided herself in her logic, and yet there she sat, resentment clouding her sense of it as she wordlessly denounced him for his actions.

She had no right no look at him like he was a monster for putting his own life above hers.

_It disappointed him._

His purple eyes looked on her like a commander would his troops, and he had long since dismissed her as anything else. It was nothing she had done; he simply had more important things to value, to prioritize. She looked at him like she'd been betrayed, and it irritated him; she was just another person, now, and their past was effectively null to him. All she was accomplishing was making his use of her shortcut more trouble than it needed to be. 

He'd forgotten how to empathize, how to see another perspective. He had no interest in remembering. Hers didn't matter, not anymore. She gained nothing from acting like this was anything but business. 

But his brow still furrowed as he watched her leave, the hopelessness in the act tugging on something he'd long since forgotten. 

He dismissed it, and he dismissed his 'assistant', too, leaving him alone in his office. The boy was proving to be a more difficult presence to coexist with than he'd initially expected; he'd walked into this 'partnership' seeing him as nothing more than an extension of his father, but the longer he spent watching him and his developments, the more differences became undeniably clear. He still possessed a childlike innocence that his father hadn't had the chance to taint, and it became increasingly indisputable that Cog was more than his blood or his family name. But Alexander didn't have time for that revelation, and it was much more practical to ignore it.

The sun had now set entirely, the window behind him reminded, and being ahead in his work was hardly a reason not to do it; he had only a few more hours during which that was feasible, but his mind warned that the focus he needed may not be so easily maintained. His gaze lowered to his desk, scanning over the contract once more and the signature that now adorned it; for a brief moment, he allowed himself to become nostalgic. 

When all of this first began and the diplomat had no choice but to isolate himself, that scrawl had become a constant in his life. He had ignored her for months, dismissing every attempt on her behalf to check on him or uncover what it was that had caused his sudden disappearance; he knew, after all, that she would see him as lowly as he saw himself if he knew the truth. And she relented, eventually, and her phone calls and house visits ended all at once one day without warning. That had always been her way, he recalled with vague endearment; it was all or nothing, like so much these days was. But the letters she sent did not stop, although the emotion behind them gradually dwindled; as he never responded, there was little for her to write of, but that had never stopped her. She would tell him about the things he had missed, becoming one of his only connections to the world outside; she would chastise him for being neglectful and inconsiderate, and she would, on occasion, express her feelings towards him. She was filled with hurt and anger and betrayal, that much was always clear; but even so, she'd never given up. Even when his reclusion had passed and he forced himself to assume the role he'd been born into, the letters kept coming, albeit not as often. Despite his return to the public eye, she never returned to see him in person; that was a bridge, he came to realize, that he had burnt. But until the day of her family's arrest, she continued to write him.

He had known long before she that her family's secret had been exposed. Weeks before their arrest, he had been part of the discussion to decide what to do with them. He had been the one to expose them in the first place, after all; the rumors spreading amongst the other nobility of their magic use were more than enough to cast suspicion upon them, and it had only been a matter of time. There was no doubt in his mind that when proof finally did come to light on its own, there would have been nothing left he could do to spare her. It was in her best interests, he decided, that he offer up that information himself; after all, there would be no semblance of doubt if the one who turned them in to begin with also proved that their daughter was innocent. It was the best outcome, that was inarguable; it was better to spare one than none. By the time she'd come to him for help, his plan was already complete. He expected her to be relieved, grateful that her life was still her own.

He never got another letter once she was released.

With a slight shake of his head, he pushed those memories away altogether; they were hardly relevant now, anyway. It was her own problem to solve if she couldn't accept that what happened was for the best. It was her own problem if she blamed him for saving her life. And he had long since stopped concerning himself with her problems. Whether or not she recognized the favor he'd done her mattered little; all he cared now was that she was in his debt, and she had no choice but to settle it.

He forced himself to deny the brief regret he felt when he saw the pain in her eyes; he didn't want to empathize, relate to her loss. That was a liability he couldn't afford. 

And he was too tired to truly be capable of it anymore, either way. The blond ambassador's eyes were constantly tempted to close and rest, exhaustion threatening him even at his best; he could _feel_ his body burning itself out, and the pain that came with that was enough to use up what little energy he had to spare. Even if he wanted to care, to help, to _connect_ \-- he doubted if he was even capable anymore.

The affliction he'd brought upon himself had _shaped_ him with time, and it had made him cold.

Whether or not that could be reversed should he be relieved of it became increasingly less important; all that still mattered was that he _was_ relieved of it. And at the rate Cog was progressing, that goal was pushed almost out of his reach; and Alexander needed no influence from anyone or anything to know and believe that _failure was not an option_. 

And she was what he needed to give himself the time he needed. Where the boy and his father's magic healed, Audrey's _grew_ instead; where they could heal a disease in seconds, she could give one the energy they needed to heal it themselves. She brought life, she replenished; it was hardly a fraction of what his assistant _should_ be capable of, and it was hardly enough to relieve him of this ailment, but it was enough to keep him going until Cog _could_. She was the antibiotic that would hold him over until the Mercian could remove the infection entirely.

Her alternative, of course, was that that skill become common knowledge; it was hardly appealing to anyone involved, himself included. She was the last of her family line, and the last to possess that particular talent, thereby making her his last option. If she were to be hanged, he would be signing his own death warrant. But the envoy offered no empty threats, and he knew that she was fully aware.

Were he to accept any personal value she may have held to him, he would compromise that judgement. It was an unacceptable loss, and he would avoid it entirely.

The pain in his back spreading through him in waves reminded him that there was no time for mistakes.

He would not make them. 

Any hint of sentimentality was lost from his eyes as he callously placed the contract in the locked drawer of his desk, and he dismissed her from his thoughts with ease and stood to leave, resigning himself to simply sleep and regain his clarity. The ten minutes he'd spent reminiscing were proof that she had already wasted too much of his time, and he intended to salvage every minute he could. He would allow her to waste no more.

As he lay down to sleep, though, he couldn't stop his mind from wandering to the ice in her blue eyes when she looked at him, the disappointment lacing her words as she spoke to him with such thinly veiled disgust. A part of him idly remarked that he had seen that harshness in her before, the cruelty so inherent in it making a lasting impression when she looked at the guards who told her her parents' verdict. A part of him was pleased, _satisfied_ , that he had elicited it -- that it was directed at him, and he had that power.

A small part of him wasn't.


	4. i'm not a fool, there's no need to pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao okay this one is hopefully long enough to make up for the lack of length in the previous chapter; i swear to god i actually tried to shorten it, but it was just not working for me so i let it get wildly out of hand, haha. anyway, there's very little alex in this one, but considering this isn't just a shippy story and the relationships aren't just between her and alex, that's to be expected and will happen again. this one is building more on audrey and cog's relationship instead, although there are hints of shit hitting the fan with the main conflict at the end. have pain. <3 if you're enjoying this story, please let me know what you think!! comments and input are honestly the biggest motivators and they make me feel so much better, so if you have the time and interest, please leave one below!
> 
> have a good one, guys <3

When blue eyes opened to the light trickling in through her window, the blacksmith couldn't stop the smile that grew on her lips. As she longingly entangled herself in the blankets and warmth of her bed, she spent several peaceful minutes in ignorance; for that brief, brief period of time, nothing had changed. She had forgotten the previous day's events, and everything was okay; she was safe behind the glass that separated her from the rest. But as her consciousness fully returned, her memory did the same, and the cracks that threatened that glass were no longer obscured from her perception. Her breath hitched in her chest, and all semblance of light in her eyes faded to lifeless despair. 

Everything was different. 

Everything had changed. 

She was terrified. 

Several minutes passed before Audrey could salvage the will to leave the safety of the soft, comforting linens that she clung to; it took several more to wake her from the hopeless trance that followed. The torpid, detached glaze in her eyes seemed to remain no matter how much time she watched pass, and the apathy with which she completed the tasks awaiting her didn't falter. It was generous, now, to say she was seeing through glass; the indifference that the woman quickly allowed to consume her ensured a consistent disconnect in her perception. Life held so much less meaning when one believed their fate to have been sealed, and infinitely less when their hope was eliminated altogether. 

Alexander, to her, was like Schrödinger's cat; so long as she never saw or spoke to him again, her mind reassured that he both cared and didn't. Both options held distinct value to her, and put her equally at ease. The conflict that would come with accepting that there was _good_ yet to be salvaged from their connection was not one she welcomed; it was not a revelation that Audrey wanted to come to that there was reason to suffer through more pain that came with putting effort into the ambassador she tried so vehemently to forget. She didn't want any reason to entangle herself in his affairs again, and she didn't _want_ her work towards abandoning him to be so easily nullified; she didn't want him the cat to live. She didn't want him to care.

But the idea that he _didn't_ evoked such strong, unmitigated emotion within her that focusing on it for too long made her want to vomit; the blacksmith couldn't understand what it was that distressed her so deeply about the idea, which frustrated her to no end. If she couldn't identify what was causing it, she was wholly incapable of dismissing it. She couldn't stand the cat, but she couldn't stand the idea that it was dead, either. She couldn't handle either outcome, but she couldn't deny the fact that one being true was simply inevitable. 

So she vowed to never open the box, leaving her in blissful ignorance for as long as she could maintain it. 

Yesterday, however, had been the equivalent to dropping the open box in her lap and forcing her to stare into that cat's lifeless eyes.

She hated that she mourned something so despicable. 

As she worked to finish her last commission that morning, Audrey came to the conclusion that she should've been the one to kill it. 

It took little deliberation to conclude that she would accomplish little with the dead paradox so compellingly ruling her mind, and once she'd finished the jewel-encrusted weapon, the conflicted blacksmith quickly flipped her 'open' sign to 'closed'. After being awake for all of three hours, it took her surprisingly little time to fall right back to sleep the moment her body made contact with the comfortable surface of her couch. It was wildly unheard of for the woman to take an unscheduled day off, but she hardly considered this rest.

\---

It was only when unusually persistent knocking at her door broke the silence that she finally awoke from her unplanned nap, and the blatantly irritated expression perfectly reflected her feelings on the matter. Nonetheless, she stood promptly to answer it, halfheartedly fixing her hair and the wrinkles in her clothes before pulling it open. Blue eyes ringed with purple bags quickly fell upon the amber ones of the Mercian she'd so recently met, and the irritation lapsed into vague curiosity. Never having been one to pick up social nuances, Audrey simply stared at him as she waited for him to explain himself.

The young artisan looked both taken aback and put off by her blatant rudeness, but dismissed it as he gave her a hesitant smile.

**"-- Uh, hi! I, um--"** the orange-clad boy started, a skeptical expression adorning his features as he looked up at the unwavering glare the woman offered him -- it reminded him far too much of the _ass_ (he'd decided it was the only relevant part of his title) he'd just left. **"Alexander told me to get used to Arcadia and learn my way around without 'involving myself in the local politics', and that I should find you to ensure that I 'stay out of trouble'. Is this a bad time?"** The finger quotations he raised around his venomous paraphrasing were enough to sneak past Audrey's unfaltering apathy and elicit a quiet chuckle and smile, which prompted the younger of the two's tension to lessen, if only slightly. His smile was a bit more genuine and noticeably less forced as he mentally noted; jokes at the diplomat's expense were her weakness, and Cog had no qualms whatsoever working with that.

**"Yes, it _is_ a bad time,"** she responded flatly, though the sternness in her words was not present in her tone, and she pushed her door open further for him to enter despite them. He obliged and she closed it behind him, sighing as she leaned against the inside of it with crossed arms.

**"Not even Alexander can afford the kind of compensation I'll need to be leaving my house today. If you insist on staying, I will have you know now that this building is all you'll be seeing of Arcadia."** Her words were nonchalant and vaguely dismissive, turning to climb the spiral staircase in the far left of the room as she gestured for him to follow. He did so without hesitation, not seeming to be bothered by her ultimatum in the slightest.

**"That's still way better than sitting in front of his desk being scolded for 'slacking off',"** he explained briefly, expression darkening in regretful apprehension as he remembered the daunting pile of journals he had still not begun to read. Perhaps the envoy was _mildly_ justified in that regard, he decided with chagrin as he made his way up to the top floor of the building.

**"Fair. Do you want breakfast?"** The woman's offer prompted some very enthusiastic nodding from the younger artisan, who elected not to mention that it was nearly noon for the sake of his meal. Considering he'd all but burnt his bridges with food at the fortress to ash, he had no intention of declining it now whenever it was available. With a hint of a smile, the woman gave him a single nod in response before crossing the room to the small kitchenette area adjacent to her bed. Cog quickly took a seat in one of two burnt orange armchairs in front of the window by the staircase, amber eyes taking in his surroundings with unfiltered curiosity. 

For such a small area, he decided, the space had been very effectively used; while it was the same size as her workplace below, it had all of the necessary amenities; the small seating area he had taken up was lined with several bookshelves, of which there were more nearer to her bed; the large, windowed wall between the two spaces was fully lined with wide tables that were covered _exclusively_ by an extensive selection of plants, both flowered and otherwise. At the far wall parallel to that of the one he sat near was her bed, currently a wild mess of blankets and pyjamas, and two small tables sat on each side and a door nearby that he assumed led to a bathroom. Across from the plants was the small kitchen the blacksmith now worked in, complete with the bare necessities one needed for cooking. 

It was very clear to Cog that the space was tailored specifically to her and didn't often entertain guests, but the various food bowls scattered along her kitchen wall suggested she did accept those of the furry variety. A wide smile spread across his lips at the idea, and he wasted no time in pursuing the question.

**"Do you have pets?"** the Mercian asked with enthusiasm clear in his tone, gesturing at the empty bowls when she turned her attention to him. Her smile was wide, this time, as she chuckled; she let the pots on the stove simmer as she gathered the bowls in her arms and placed them on the counter. 

**"I wouldn't call them pets. They're much more like freeloading visitors that come and go as they wish,"** she explained lightheartedly, mood very clearly lifting at the mention of them. **"For the most part, they're cats, dogs, and birds, but there are occasional exceptions."** Cog was clearly waiting for an elaboration on the vague afterthought, but she gave him a subtly devious smile as she dismissed the matter entirely. The topic had clearly brought about some sort of revelation, however, and the woman quickly crossed the room to open each window fully before filling each bowl with a different variety of food. There was no immediate reaction as she placed them back in their spot on the floor; she simply wanted her aforementioned visitors to smell the food and know their options. Even so, two pigeons were on the window's ledge in seconds alone, immediately nibbling on the plants they found there.

**"Uh... Audrey?"** the artisan called, looking back and forth between the birds and his host with conflict clear in his expression; he didn't want to tell on the fowl, but he didn't want them to get in trouble, either. Her attention shifted quickly from their breakfast to the peckish guests with vaguely amused irritation; she quickly crumpled up a small napkin, tossing it in their direction and nearly hitting the larger of the two on the head. The action elicited some distressed chirps from the feathered creatures, but they quickly got the hint and switched over to the birdseed on the corner of the table. 

Cog watched them with slight bemusement as he waited for her to finish cooking, a small smile holding strong on his lips. However sneaky the birds may have been, he found them endearing and adorable nonetheless, and the sound of their quiet pecking was unusually relaxing. The silence was incredibly comfortable compared to the tense quiet he so often shared with the ambassador, and his shoulders drooped in relief. With so much going on every minute of every day, the artisan found it easy to forget how constantly stressed this situation was truly making him; any brief repose from that was a welcome change in his routine, and it was all he could do not to close his eyes and sleep altogether with such sudden alleviation. 

His peaceful rest was brought to a close, however, when Audrey finally returned, setting down a bowl of porridge and a mug of hot cocoa down on the small table in front of him. Seconds later, she was back with those of her own, though Cog noted that her porridge was so full of brown sugar that both the consistency and color of the meal had changed entirely.

**"Sugar's on the counter if you want some,"** the blacksmith offered idly, noticing his gaze shift to her bowl; he quickly and vehemently shook his head, and she dismissed the matter and took a seat on the chair next to his. Several minutes passed as they ate in silence, the blacksmith openly surprised at the ferocity with which he devoured his food, though no comment or question was made. Eventually, she deemed it appropriate to speak once more, though the dark-haired woman was hardly a fan of small talk -- nor was she a good judge of what questions were acceptable to ask, though her guest didn't seem to be overly bothered.

**"So, I'm assuming there are much more _complicated_ circumstances regarding your involvement with Alex than are being voluntarily shared; if I may ask, what is it that he really wants with you?"** While her query was wildly indiscreet and equally impolite, she was unaware, and the younger craftsman wasn't overly taken aback. 

**"I, uh-- It's nothing that complicated, really. 'Mending relations between the powers' and all that,"** he answered hesitantly, offering her a nervous smile as she fixed him with a disbelieving stare.

**"My life is indebted to the ambassador, and is ultimately in his hands at the moment; should you choose to indulge me in the truth, I can assure you that I am in no position to be spreading that information around if I want to maintain my livelihood."** Her voice did not falter and her tone was sharp, nearly dismissing his response altogether, which prompted a momentarily annoyed expression from the boy. While she looked on him expectantly, she did nothing to press the matter further. His amber eyes left her gaze as he tensely turned it to the window instead, agitation clear in his body language as he mentally searched for some way to change the subject. His anxiety clearly took priority over his manners, and he blurted out the next question that came to mind.

**"So what did he do to make you so indebted to him, anyway?"** The inquiry left his lips before he had the chance to filter it, and his expression almost immediately became both sheepish and apologetic as he continued. **"Sorry, that was rude, wasn't it? You don't have to--"**

**"Don't worry about it. At this point, most people already know anyway, so it makes little difference to tell one more. My parents and I were nobility at one point; technically, that hasn't changed, but social standing dictates otherwise. They were found guilty of using magic, and subsequently executed. As Alex and I attended the same school before that point, I turned to him for help before our trial; he told me that there was nothing he could do, which hardly came as a surprise."**

Cog's expression was sympathetic, and with the stigma regarding magic users taken into consideration, that surprised her; but nonetheless, she continued.

**"I was released when they _'found'_ evidence that I had no blood relation to them. It was obvious that it was his doing, of course. He spared me from execution, and it's now very clear that he doesn't intend to let me forget about it." ** Placing her now-empty bowl down on the table between them, she picked up the mug instead and sipped from it idly as she waited for his response. When she was met with silence and a thoroughly contemplative expression on the boy's face, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety, though she masked it well as she focused her gaze intently on her flora instead.

Cog, meanwhile, was taking her words into deep consideration; for someone that was so often dismissed as being 'inconsequential', he was intelligent to say the _least_ , and there was little that went over his head. The way she emphasized 'found', the almost _challenging_ glint in her eyes as she explained; they were hardly lost on the golden-haired artisan, and he had few doubts that the evidence was plagiarized by the envoy they were both now forced to serve. Feeling marginally safer with that suspicion in mind, it was a risk he was willing to take to answer her question with filtered honesty.

**"My dad was a magic user, too. Alexander really needed his help with something, but he died a long time ago, and I'm the only one left in our family, so..."** While his words trailed off, the implication that followed was clear to them both. **"That's why he brought me here."**

Audrey's brow furrowed and her lips twitched into a frown, though she allowed her eyes to meet his again with poorly hidden conflict; that wasn't the answer she'd been expecting, nor was her own explanation a prompt for him to give it. A part of her, she realized, had offered that information up so voluntarily because it _wanted_ her secret to be exposed. That part of her saw little point left in maintaining the life that Alex had now left in shambles. But his response intrigued her enough to switch her focus, and she nearly replied when he beat her to it.

**"Was it... I mean, did he really find the evidence, or did he fake it? Are you really not a magic user?"** It was the second time a question so blatantly personal had escaped his lips with uncontrolled impulse, but his curiosity (and hope, he realized) was too strong to leave him feeling guilty. His expression was intense and expectant, this time; no longer apologetic. 

The tired, apathetic look returned to her eyes, and she sipped her coffee with such clear lifelessness that Cog was almost shocked. She realized that it no longer mattered whether or not she kept her own secret, as it was no longer just hers to keep; it no longer held any gravity to her, no value or meaning. It was a hopeless conclusion to come to, and she felt as if she'd lost something important; and Alex had taken it _effortlessly_ in a matter of hours. 

It didn't matter if he kept it to himself or not.

With a nonchalant wave of her hand, green magic channeled from it and surrounded the greenery living in front of her windows. Its sudden presence was enough to scare off the pigeons that feasted on the birdseed beside them, and Audrey felt brief guilt as she offered them an apologetic glance. The plants, however, were what stole Cog's attention, as they almost instantly grew from small buds into fully-grown flowers and shrubs, blooming with impossible color as he stared in awe. His attention was still fixed on them as she spoke once more, a hint of contentment in her somber voice as she looked upon them.

**"My parents taught me magic ever since I was a child. While I can use it in quite a few ways, my primary focus is botanical. I grow herbs and plants infused with magic to help both physical and mental healing. Or the opposite, I suppose, should the situation call for it. For the most part, I use it to help bring life to those that need it; plants and animals, in my case."** Her words were spoken softly, endearment clear and in stark contrast with her detachment only moments before.

The Mercian grinned over at her, excitement written in bold across his features; he stared in awe at the plants and at her, openly thrilled at the prospect of having someone to share this aspect with aside from his captor. Reservations nearly gone altogether, he saw no further reason not to share his own situation with his escort, openly enthusiastic as he offered up the knowledge he himself had only recently come to possess. 

**"My dad -- he was a doctor, and apparently he used magic to help his patients, too! I'm supposed to be able to do the same thing, but... Well, I think Alexander's gonna be disappointed. But he was a great guy! Apparently he was incredible with his magic!"**

Audrey couldn't help but smile at him, a warmth in the expression that she hardly ever possessed; despite the prejudice (that was often justified, she would admit) towards magic users, the admiration this boy expressed towards his father clearly didn't falter even when that information was given to him. The light in his eyes as he spoke of him was filled with such unadulterated love, and the man's magic seemed not to have changed that in the slightest; he was so _proud_. She felt a sense of sincerity, _affection_ , that she'd thought herself to have forgotten.

**"His -- and your -- magic; it can heal, then?"** she queried, interested by the prospect and eager to learn more. Cog nodded quickly, grin not fading in the slightest.

**"Yeah, apparently! Alexander says he could heal almost anything with it, even magical ailments. He says I can, too, I just... I can't use it at all, and I've been trying for weeks."**

The blacksmith's expression fell into a small frown, gaze leaving his in contemplation. As her thoughts and considerations occupied the majority of her attention, she hardly noticed when her eyes stopped and focused on the large indoor tree beside her bed. The sound of him shifting uncomfortably in his seat was enough to bring her out of her thoughtful trance, and the wilting leaves of the foliage inspired an idea in her conflicted mind, prompting her to stand and move to it. She gestured him to follow, sitting cross-legged on the floor before it as he did the same. 

**"Your magic can heal, while mine can grow. Mine can give a being the energy it needs to recover, but you can skip that process entirely, healing it directly and essentially 'cutting out the middle man'. While I can give this plant what it needs to replenish its energy and have it perfectly fine by tomorrow, you can heal it fully right now. I'd like you to try, if you're alright with it. Keep in mind that even if you aren't successful, I'll make sure it's fully mended by the morning nonetheless."** Her words were encouraging, and while reluctance was clear in his body language, he gave her a nod of agreement and held his hands open in front of the tree. 

**"If I may make a suggestion, try not to focus so much on the technical process of getting it to work. Your body inherently knows how to wield it, so try to focus on your emotions and your instincts and see if that helps at all."**

\---

Hours passed and the artisan's dedication did not falter, although his confidence most certainly took a hit; while he'd succeeded in creating sparks of magic as he had before under Alex's supervision, he'd failed entirely to complete the goal Audrey had given him. Eventually, the blacksmith had made him another mug of hot cocoa, offering it to him with plentiful reassurance; it was _supposed_ to take a long time to learn how to use magic, and he was doing well, even if it didn't seem like it. But this didn't lessen his frustration nor his impatience, and Cog refused to give up until he saw some semblance of success.

When he finally sat back in defeat with a sigh, his tired eyes noticed the blacksmith's sleeping form on her bed; she, clearly, was as exhausted as he was, no matter how hard she tried to dismiss it. He gave her a halfhearted smile, gently tucking her into her nest of blankets before letting himself out. 

He appreciated her help and her faith in him, but it seemed less and less likely every day that he could ever manage to do what was expected of him. As he walked back to the fortress, his momentary hopelessness was obvious through his downtrodden expression, shoulders slumped tiredly all the way. The longer he took to learn to use magic and heal Alexander, the longer it would be before he would see everyone he cared about again. What if he never learned? _What if he never saw them again?_

The majority of his musings on his trek back to his temporary home were similarly despairing, and he breathed out a sigh of relief as he finally reached the ambassador's office to find it empty. When that had passed, however, he found himself vaguely concerned, having never actually _seen_ the man willingly leave his desk if not for other work before. As he approached the workspace, he found a neatly written note sitting atop it, picking it up gingerly and mumbling it aloud as he read it.

_'I hope you did **something** productive today; do with the evening as you wish, and take care to be on time in the morning.'_

Cog could almost _hear_ the condescending tone through even his _written_ words, and he grimaced before realizing that he had essentially been given the night off. Whatever patronizing explanation he was sure to be given tomorrow made no difference now, and he couldn't help but smile, if only slightly, as he exited and made his way to his room.

\---

The diplomat couldn't help but shake as the pain wracked his body, hunched into itself as he finally sat on his bed in frustration. Pain, he could handle and deal with; but when it got in the way of his work and interrupted his productivity, the envoy simply couldn't allow it. The fact that he could do nothing to solve it only _infuriated_ him further, and he was sure his trembling form was _utterly_ pathetic; he _hated_ the idea of being seen as weak, and there was nothing to soften his own harshness as he thought it of himself. 

Perhaps he didn't have as much time as he'd thought, planned on; perhaps there was none to spare on persuading the woman he'd blackmailed and coerced to help him survive. He would need to speed things along, that much had been made very clear tonight; he would have to bring her in much sooner than he'd planned, convince her to help him as quickly as possible. 

He couldn't wait.

He wouldn't last.


	5. when you come around telling me i've changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and when the shit hit the faaaaan, all we ever haaaaad, ended up lost in the fiiiiiire
> 
> happy clockwork oc week, everyone! hiatus is finally over. c:

It was with frigid disconnect that Audrey brought her focus to the family walking ahead of her, seemingly and _likely_ living without any concern or prominent fear at all; in a distant, near-forgotten way, she saw herself in the children that walked hand in hand with unrivaled excitement. In all likelihood, they would live their entire lives without worry; no risks or dangers approaching them (the killer working from the shadows being the obvious exception) and no _need_ to work for their right to live, familial expectations aside. They could simply _enjoy_ without ever needing to worry.

At one point, that had been her. She wasn't sure she could describe the way she felt about that realization as nostalgic, although a small part of her would admit that she missed the simplicity and stability and _safety_ with a fervor that she would never fully dismiss. But she had been so _naive_ , so ignorant to what it truly meant to survive. The blacksmith could never consider her parents' deaths a _good_ thing in any form of the word, but they had served to teach her more than an entire life of hedonistic aristocracy ever would have. 

Was it with pity or envy that she regarded the children that she now watched? Even with everything she'd learned in the time between then and now, Audrey had never been entirely sure which life she would have chosen, should she have had the opportunity and the foresight. She didn't know which would make her happy, and were she to be wholly honest, she wasn't sure _either_ would. Perhaps it had been a pointless endeavor from the beginning. 

But either way, it was a choice she would never have the opportunity to make. 

The barriers she'd so closely guarded and maintained -- she felt them shake the longer she focused on the family of aristocrats before her, and the feeling she soon felt in the pit of her stomach forced her to look away. The artisan felt so overwhelmingly fragile, and her hands shook with panic and dread as the memory of their bodies forced itself to the front of her mind. It was as if she'd put pressure on a crack in glass, and the effect was so sudden that the shock alone was enough to quicken her pace as she ducked through an alley and away from the objects of her attention.

The rest of the walk home felt like a blur, almost unidentifiable; the haze obscuring her mind was an uncomfortable reality that seemed not to falter in the slightest, and the feeling was most certainly not one she welcomed. Gracelessly throwing herself down onto her work bench, the brunette much more carefully emptied a leather pouch of jewels onto the wooden desk, pouring herself a drink before delicately leaning in to examine them. A small smile crept into her features, and her mind slowly began to refocus; after all, this _was_ what she looked forward to most every week. 

Surprisingly enough, it _had_ been a week; seven days without any interruptions from the walking reason for all of her anxieties. It seemed like a gift too good to believe, but she'd successfully immersed herself so thoroughly in her work that she'd managed to keep her focus elsewhere. If nothing else, the blacksmith had certainly been productive. Today, as per schedule, was her reward; once weekly, with exceptions in the case of financial discrepancies, she'd allow herself to spend one of her weekend days off simply venturing through the beautiful streets of her home, primarily in search of precious stones. It was a frivolous collection, she realized; the artisan justified it frequently by claiming them to be supplies for her work, but an average of maybe one stone out of every twenty she bought was ever even taken out of the box. Somehow, it had just become a comforting part of her routine, and she would allow the brief lapses in financial responsibility for the sake of simple stress relief. 

The rise and fall of her chest slowed the longer she spent with her prizes, the cool feeling of them in her palms bringing her a sense of clarity she was desperate to maintain. The panicked urgency that had so quickly flooded her mind was just as quick to disperse, and it was only a matter of minutes before the blacksmith exhaled deeply and straightened her posture, replacing them in their box with steadied hands. 

Her thoughts, however, were notably more persistent, and the nagging concern the moment of panic had sparked in her refused to be dismissed no matter what she did to soothe it. It was with mild frustration that she stood and climbed the stairs to her living quarters, setting a kettle on the stove in hopes of easing her nerves with the sugar and caffeine tea offered her; as she sat neatly in the armchair by her window, however, she couldn't stop herself from obsessing over her worry.

Only months ago, such a small reminder would never have sparked such mental duress in the Arcadian; internal conflicts aside, she prided herself in how well-adjusted she had forced herself to become. And during those months that had passed, nothing had changed; nothing had _happened_ to trigger such deterioration in that control. 

The whistle of the kettle was not enough to distract her from the conclusion she had made; it was her magic. With the unique quality it offered, it gave her body the energy it needed to recover from most of what it took out of her; as such, it also gifted her with a powerful false sense of security. Her body would not deteriorate nearly as fast as those of most magic users, and she had spent years thinking herself to be invincible because of it.

But no amount of regenerative energy would heal the damage it did to her mind; the ignorant delusion that she could simply will herself to control it was beginning to fade into a reality Audrey was terrified to accept. The years she had spent denying the truth were beginning to cause something irreversible. Something no amount of magic, willpower or even medicine could fix. She felt her hands run through her hair, undoing and redoing the loose braids she so often wore with enough fervor to rip out strands along with it; she felt her breathing hitch in her throat, and it felt like it was crushing her all over again, and she--

 _Shit_. The sound of loud, persistent knocking on her door brought reality screaming back to her, and she was all at once aware of the multitude of things going on outside of her inward panic. The kettle's whistle had at some point become more of a metallic shriek, and the water now boiling out of the spout was sizzling on the stove; one of her canine tenants was barking with ferocity at her to rid him of the incessant noise, subsequently scaring a pigeon into knocking over a bowl left on the table -- _and that goddamn knocking_. 

At the very least, the forced awareness _pissed her off_ enough to bring her to her feet, quickly moving the kettle off of the stove and turning it off before retrieving the bowl from the mess of pieces the bird had left on the floor. The dog, satisfied with the turn of events, trotted down the stairs to judge the source of his second-priority annoyance; the sound of him barking at Audrey once more to open the door sent her stomping down the stairs with irritation she made no effort to disguise. 

When she pulled the door open, the Mercian waiting for her on the other side openly flinched at the icy expression she had directed at him, unintentionally as it may have been. That paired with the notably large German Shepherd panting excitedly at him and threatening to bound past the blacksmith's grip and onto him widened his eyes automatically, and he stood stunned and paralyzed for a brief moment. Hand still raised to knock once more, he slowly lowered it to his side as he stepped back warily, and her expression softened; of all of the possible interruptions, there was no arguing that Cog was the lesser of _all_ evils. 

Even so, the blacksmith was still far too distressed to use proper etiquette, and simply stared at her orange-clad guest with the expectation that he would explain himself and his visit without prompting.

This, itself, was a prompt, although only to bring a sigh to the younger artisan's lips; he was beginning to grow accustomed to this sort of greeting, and it was not something he was pleased to adjust to. 

**"Alexander sent me; apparently he wants to talk to you about something, and he wants you to meet him at his office."** Despite the formality of his words, Cog's tone was soft and tinted with understanding; at least she didn't _mean_ to be rude, which was more than he could say for the blond diplomat waiting for them both back at the fortress.

 **" _Not_ \--"** Audrey's mouth opened and spoke before she considered her words, and she cut herself off before she could finish dismissing the request entirely. After all, it wasn't as if she hadn't expected this; if anything, she should feel lucky that she'd had a whole week free of it. It wouldn't do her any good to refuse, unless her _goal_ was to irritate the one accommodating enough to leave her alone for so long. With a long and deep exhale of resignation, she offered him a tired nod instead, gesturing first for him to come inside.

 **"Tea first. I didn't deal with that kettlepocalypse for nothing."** Her words fell upon deaf ears as the boy looked at her with confusion, but shook his head and followed nonetheless; it wasn't uncommon for her to speak more to herself than him, and he had accepted that he would spend a solid amount of his time around her not understanding what she meant. At least he would also spend it with tea and, likely, some food.

The burnt orange chair beside the window had quickly become _Cog's_ chair, to the point that the blacksmith no longer felt comfortable sitting there -- in _his_ spot. It was almost a relief to see him so habitually sit in it, no longer asking permission, and she fought back a smile as he waited politely; he had quickly worked his way into her routine, and despite the consequences of it, she certainly wasn't displeased with the development. 

The artisan in question's attention was stolen by the loud clicking of claws on the wooden stairs, and the imposing dog who had so diligently finished investigating the door and Cog was now waiting at his feet. The canine looked up at him with a ridiculous grin, tongue lolling out of his mouth with an expectant gaze, as if to ask what he was even doing here if he wasn't going to pet him. The Mercian was quick to catch on, and chuckled somewhat nervously as he reached his hand forwards to indulge the animal -- when he slammed his snout into the boy's hand in a rough nuzzle, it undoubtedly took him aback. Another nuzzle. And another. Could one even call these nuzzles? Cog decided them to be much better described as snout assaults, and the Shepherd would not relent, whining occasionally as he continued. 

When Audrey turned around with two mugs in hand, she was briefly confused; Cog was missing altogether, and the dog had taken his place on the chair with an almost _smug_ expression. Naturally, this was only the initial conclusion, as further investigation revealed two very human legs sticking out from beneath the animal and a muffled groan from behind the satisfied canine. Her eyes narrowed as quickly as they had widened, and she quickly released Cog from his grasp with a stern _'down'_. 

The Mercian's appearance was noticeably more disheveled than before, and he slowly wiped the canine's spit from his cheek with mild disgust; he then turned his gaze to the woman looking down at him with sympathy.

 **"I'm sorry. He thinks he's a lap dog. Considering that I do allow him to sit in mine, I suppose it would have to be my fault that he's come to this conclusion."** Glancing down at the animal in question with an affectionate sigh, the blacksmith set both mugs down on the table in front of Cog before sitting on the opposing chair. 

**"No, that's okay; he just took me off guard a little, is all,"** he replied politely, reaching a hand down to pet the dog that now sat, with resignation, at his feet. **"What's his name?"**

 **"I don't actually know what his real name is; I started calling him 'Switch' when his mood swings proved more frequent than the average human's. He'll growl at someone as if to threaten them and then claim their body and soul as his bed within ten minutes."** Her words were spoken with a light-hearted fondness as she shot a tired smile in his direction, before meeting Cog's eyes once more. **"I think he was a police dog before he ended up here; he was wounded and scared, so he's been here on and off for quite a while."**

**"Maybe you should ask Kasper! If he was a police dog, I'm sure he'd be relieved to have him back again--"**

**"And while somewhere, deep down, I know that that _is_ what I should do, I have no intention to spend any more time in that fortress than I absolutely _have_ to."** Her abrupt interruption wiped the excited expression off of the Mercian's face with impressive speed, and he released a low, tired sigh. He hadn't expected that tension to come back _this_ quickly, but he couldn't wholly say he was surprised. With a dejected glance, his shoulders slumped as he looked back at her and continued.

**"I don't blame you, but... I mean, you know Alex won't take 'no' for an answer, right? You're gonna have to come eventually, and I don't see standing him up helping anything."**

While the Arcadian gave him no solid, spoken answer, the small nod with which she responded was a clear enough representation of her understanding, however displeased. A quiet whine from Switch took her attention down to him, and he licked at her free hand with oddly perceptive sympathy; after a long sigh and a longer sip of her tea, her gaze returned to that of her guest's.

 **"I apologize for my tactlessness. My fatigue and my issues with Alexander are no problems of yours; as soon as I've finished my tea, I'll accompany you without further complaint."** While it took a great deal of effort, she paired those words with a small, friendly smile that was quickly returned.

**"Thanks. Hey, maybe it won't even be that bad!"**

\---

Throughout the entire walk there, Audrey had held the Mercian to those words; if nothing else, she had decided that even if it _was_ that bad, at least now she had someone else to blame it on. Of course, shifting the blame would do nothing to ease the consequences of whatever was to come, but the idea offered enough comedic relief to the woman that she felt herself marginally more capable of maintaining her composure -- this time, at least.

When they reached the doors leading to the ambassador's office, the woman was no longer dreading it as the lowest layer of Hell; maybe the fifth or sixth, but certainly more manageable, if nothing else. And when the sound of voices within stole her attention, Cog nearly _snorted_ in laughter as she quickly pulled him out of view to listen; out of everything he had expected from the undeniably strange woman, such blatant childishness was the _last_. And while she had flicked him to keep him quiet, even she couldn't keep herself from chuckling quietly at the ridiculousness of such an impulsive, nosy act. 

The voices were easily recognizable as those of the ambassador and admiral -- hardly an uncommon pairing of sounds, as it was, and one that brought a brief smile to the blacksmith's lips. Despite her lasting resentment towards most Arcadian officials, the hybrid's personality made it hard for her not to find him at least a bit endearing. 

**"Alex, you're expecting _her_ to cooperate with you? Are you sure we're talking about the same woman?"**

Her silent, derisive snort was quiet enough to go unheard, although Cog hit her shoulder lightly to keep her from blowing their cover. She supposed it made sense for her to be the topic of conversation, as not only was she expected, but both she and her Mercian escort were noticeably late.

**" _Yes_ , Leonardo -- and I don't doubt that she will. And if it was at _all_ unclear, my business with her is entirely _private_ , so--"**

**"I'll go, I'll go, don't worry; I just can't imagine how you can see this working out at _all_ in your favor, all considered."** The admiral's words were accompanied by his approaching footsteps, and Cog moved to retreat back into the hallway, tugging the blacksmith's jacket to encourage her to do the same. To his confusion, she refused, expression now steeled with guarded curiosity as she waited for one of them to elaborate.

 **"She will cooperate."** Were Leonardo not close enough to hear, she'd have snorted again at his dismissal; perhaps not as much had changed as she'd thought. The footsteps came to a halt, and she sneaked a glance from her hiding place to see the hybrid turn back to face the blond man again with a disbelieving laugh.

**"Alex, _you_ were the one who turned her parents in; doesn't she know that? _I'm_ not questioning that decision in the slightest, of course, but I can hardly see _her_ being understanding of your motivations--"**

She could easily claim to have dropped her out of shock, but the look with which she fixed them made it undeniably clear that all she wanted was to see the panic on their faces when the noise turned them around to see her vicious glare.


	6. damn right, i've fucking changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she pissed, he pissed, that's their relationship
> 
> i swear to god someday they will actually be able to enjoy each others' company again, it just might be fifteen chapters from now

**"You _piece_ of _shit_."**

The words came out like venom, and she spat them with such vicious ferocity that her being in the presence of two of Arcadia's five didn't occur to her at all. Managing her etiquette was the farthest thing from a priority; all of the energy she could spare was going to keeping the magic tingling in her hands from hurling the diplomat straight out of his beautifully designed window. 

Her ears were ringing relentlessly, and if there was any response past the stunned silence, she wouldn't have heard it. The blonde dignitary rushed a demand out at his hybrid guest, and the blacksmith distantly heard him murmur an apology before hurrying out of the room altogether. The Mercian, formerly hidden behind her, was now at her side and squeezing her hand with a dangerous urgency, presumably trying to release her from her red-tinted trance. While his efforts would, on any other occasion, be wholly appreciated and likely successful, the _searing_ fury the dark-haired artisan felt was burning away all semblance of self-control that she had once mastered. 

A flash of green magic brighter than it had ever been obscured the room, and the window was shattered. Her body was _screaming_ and she felt the unnatural adrenaline with which her magic provided her course through her veins, unrelenting and _viral_ in its nature. 

**" _You_ ruined _everything_! _You_ took it all away!"** Her self-awareness had dwindled and with it, her volume control; her voice escalated into a ruthless yell as the tingle of her magic turned into a burn. **"And you had the _audacity_ to tell me _you saved me_! That you showed me mercy, went out of your way to _spare me_!"**

**" _You killed them_ , you reprehensible, despicable little _wretch_!"** Her words were _screamed_ with the desperation of a wounded animal, and the green light she so poorly commanded threatened to tear the room to pieces of its own will. The longer she looked at his face, the face she once would have given anything to see again, the faster her mind and will deteriorated into nothing but the primal urge to _tear it off_. 

It wasn't until the shaken, panicked voice of the artisan beside her redirected her attention that she began to see reason; the fear in his voice and body language as he pulled away from her to stand closer to _Alexander_ for protection was a physical shock enough to shake her mind from its savage fixation. Audrey forced her eyes to stay on him, and she desperately reined in the anger that had so quickly threatened to consume her. The memory of her father's thrashing, violent form as he was being hanged fronted in her mind, and she forced herself to remember the look in his eyes when she realized the magic had consumed him altogether -- that there was nothing left of _him_ but his body. It felt disgusting to view that as an _example_ , a warning of what _not_ to become; it was her _father_ , the man she had idolized since birth. But it was the only warning that still held weight to her; a terrifying realization in and of itself. 

When the blacksmith could finally trust herself to return her gaze to the ambassador, his expression reflected nothing but mild annoyance in the form of a patronizing leer -- there was a shadow to his gaze that she could not distinguish, but it mattered little. What she cared about was slapping that calm, _impatient_ demeanour from his face entirely; but as the magic burned her at her fingertips once more, she had no choice but to prioritize. 

**"Are you quite finished with your little _tantrum_ , now, Miss Blumenthal?"** The flatness of his voice cut her like a knife. His expression remained unchanged. 

She realized that tears had stained her face, now red and puffy, and she had no idea when they had even begun.

With a brief flick of her hand, the heaviest book she could spot was flung into Alexander's face with force enough to hurt _even him_. She didn't give him the chance to act on the indignant fury that was now clear in his eyes, cutting him off before he could open his mouth at all.

**"Have me hanged if that is your wish; I'm staying as true to our contract as you have to your words. Whatever it is that you need from me, I look forward to seeing it ripped from your grasp at the execution. At least finish what you started and kill the last of this god damned family."** Consequence seemed meaningless in the moment, and she had no regrets as she spat with disgust at the ground several feet before him. Impulse kept her from staying long enough to see his reaction, but she didn't miss the blood dripping from his now-broken nose, and it brought her childish, petty satisfaction as she slammed the door behind her.

Inherent embarrassment burned at her wet cheeks as she rushed down the halls of the fortress with unmatched urgency, quickly becoming aware of the scene she had just made and the unwanted attention she had unwittingly drawn to herself. Her icy eyes refused to meet those of the Arcadian officials that had turned their focus to her, and she kept her gaze glued to the ground with enough intensity to burn holes in it -- figuratively, she hoped. As her trips in and out of the fortress so frequently seemed to be, her exit was nothing but a blur by the time she'd crossed the bridge that led her home. She wasn't complaining. There was no argument that the blacksmith stood nothing to gain from remembering the details.

She knew for a fact that she wouldn't find success by trying to understand the emotions that were causing her such distress, but their origin was clear to even her. Even so, the state of shock that the sudden intake of information had put her in was enough to put her mind in a loop like a skipping CD; _he was the one who did it_. Despite the blatant outrage she had so clearly displayed to him only a half hour before, there was a large part of Audrey that still couldn't process or believe that it had really been him. Alexander, the man she expected never to reciprocate the gestures she offered him; The man she had accepted that she meant nothing to, and perhaps always had; The man who was no more a part of her life, now, as her parents. Her expectations of him had been consistently low, now, for more years than she could count, and until this point, Audrey was certain that there was nothing he could do that would shock or even disappoint her anymore. Clearly, this was just another certainty that failed to hold its own.

It was him. God, it was _him_. Everything she _was_ now, everything she had _become_ ; it was all based on what had happened, and those _exact_ circumstances. Up until now, it was her parents that ultimately got _themselves_ executed; they'd taught her that magic was fine so long as it was used with discretion, but they were wrong, and their bodies and minds that day, consumed by the very thing they so loved, were all the proof she needed. Up until now, it was their blood that doomed them. Up until now, her biggest fear was waking up without any of her mind left to speak of. Up until now, everything that had happened to them, the tragedy, the death, the loss-- it was just because of what they were, and it was inevitable and deserved. It was just because of their magic.

But it wasn't. Of course, it was certainly the furthest from the _gift_ her parents once deemed it, but they did not die simply because of who they were. They died because he turned them in. _He_ got them killed. That changed everything. Her eyes had glossed over by the time she reached and opened her office door, and it was by muscle memory alone that she managed to flop down on the leather couches in the waiting area. 

Up until now, she realized as she curled into herself on the sofa, she believed she had some control over what happened in her life. She believed that if they had died because of what they were, then if Audrey exercised careful, calculated control over herself and her actions, she could prevent that for herself. But that, now, was exposed all too clearly as the mirage that it was. _He_ controlled it. And she couldn't control him. She could never control him. 

It was as if the very center of her universe had collapsed, and the blacksmith's tsunami of emotions was the debris crashing down around her. Everything had changed; the strength she'd built for herself was suddenly without foundation, and the last thing she could count on was a lie. She reached over to pour herself a glass of whiskey, but quickly decided against the formality of a glass and took the whole bottle in her hand instead. Taking a generous swig, she forced the familiar, comforting sting of the liquid to calm her, and the deep breaths she took between further sips were enough to trick at least her body into thinking she was better.

Of course, thinking about it again was enough to make her heart skip a beat; no amount of alcohol would be enough to calm the shock that she felt at this unwelcome revelation. Instead, she desperately forced herself not to think about it -- for which the whiskey was _more_ than enough to fulfill its purpose.

\---

Purple eyes lowering their focus, the ambassador could see his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edges of his desk with frustration. He had done _everything_ according to plan, and had today just followed along with the painfully _simple_ steps he had planned, he and Audrey would be having dinner at this very moment discussing the terms of their much less legal arrangement. It was so simple that he had nearly _felt_ the relief already, and it was that preemptive belief that made him so, _so_ much more _furious_ now. 

Leonardo was not at fault, that was clear. Considering that her arrival was four hours late, it was unlikely that either of them would still be on guard to the highest extent. They certainly could have exercised more caution, but that was Alexander's fault as much as it was his friend's. His assistant, on the other hand--

_How_ could he have justified _standing_ there and letting her listen in? Alexander was fully aware that he had told Cog next to nothing about the situation, and therefore that the Mercian would have no reason to know how sensitive the matter they were discussing truly was. Even so, even after the brief time the artisan had spent in Mercia, had he not _learned_ by now that invading the ambassador's privacy was so far beyond 'breaking the rules' that punishment would _define_ the word 'severe'? Was it not common sense to keep at least his _guest_ from hearing what was _meant_ to be a private conversation?

He was sure, now, that the boy understood the issue. His words towards the Mercian were cold and harsh as he dismissed him, and while he did nothing to threaten him, he could see the fear in Cog's eyes as he left. (There was a part of him that regretted that, however, when he realized he had scared his ward enough to stop even the sass and childish arguments; he wasn't yet sure why that bothered him, but it was in no way welcome). 

And now he was alone, though the lack of further interruption seemed to do little for his anger. Leonardo had insisted that he come back and tend to Alexander's nose, now very broken and staining a surprisingly plentiful number of his handkerchiefs with its blood, but he had retreated when the ambassador had made his mood very clear. The diplomat would admit, though, that a part of him missed the hybrid's comforting presence now, amidst his furious deliberation -- but he hardly had the time, now, to worry about his own stress levels. 

His plans had now been set back by weeks, maybe months -- maybe _indefinitely_ , and he simply could _not_ allow that. His life was on the line, and he was certainly not willing to sacrifice it because what he needed to survive was 'emotionally distressed'. The blond envoy released an exhausted sigh and sat back down in his chair, carefully removing her contract from its locked drawer and placing it before him on the desk. His hand massaged his temples as he read it over again; of course, he knew that the document was entirely airtight. It was simply an effort to ease his racing mind to remind himself of that fact; Audrey's words were certainly strong and decisive, but he knew more than anyone else that she had _very_ important reasons not to be hanged. And he had no qualms with exploiting them _all_ just to show her how truly _trapped_ she was; how little choice she had but to obey. 

He no longer had the time nor _interest_ in easing the woman into what she was going to be made to do. She had proven herself too emotionally volatile (and her lack of control over her magic only further proved that, although that was an issue he would handle another day) and far too incapable of _listening_. As his amethyst eyes scanned over her signature once more with a small, _smug_ smile, he realized there was _nothing_ she could do to escape the fate he had now solidified for her. Nothing.


	7. this ain't no free rent, come and pitch a tent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry that this chapter is late and relatively short, i've been super busy workin on a cw fancomic and my own webcomic, and it took up way more of my time and energy than i thought it would. for the record, most chapters will be around 2000-4000 words; this one is just a bit short of 2000 because i wanted to get something up before i went way too long without posting again. hopefully updates will be marginally more frequent now!

A hesitant fist raised to knock at the door of the closed blacksmithing shop for the fifth time this week, an anxious expression on the face of its orange-clad bearer. Cog could understand her fury, her shock, her pain -- but even he could see that isolating herself in this situation was only going to make it worse, and he was growing frustrated. Even so, _his_ frustration was based out of sympathy and _empathy_ , whereas the increasingly prominent irritation of his boss was much less understanding, and the Mercian hoped desperately that Audrey would come to her senses and open the door.

Of course, she was surprisingly controlled in her lack of control, and had already arranged to complete her work via order and delivery temporarily; if, despite her distress, she was still so quick to maintain _professionalism alone_ , he doubted that her will would be broken by the minor annoyance he was sure his knocking was causing her. As much as he hoped for the best, he certainly didn't expect it. And when his resigned attempt was met with no response, he was far from surprised. The artisan turned around with a sigh, tired already despite the morning having just begun; as it had each day for the past five, he didn't doubt that his day would start with the warm, _loving_ chastising of his irritated superior.

\--

Somehow, despite being cleanly showered with _obsessively_ brushed teeth, the taste and smell of vomit and vodka still burned at her nostrils as Audrey leaned over her coffee table. Despite the incessant flipping of her stomach and the obvious fact that eating the breakfast in front of her would soothe it, the Arcadian woman couldn't bring herself to touch it. Given the fact that she couldn't wholly _remember_ the last meal she'd eaten that didn't have an alcohol percentage of over 30, it was more than clear to the blacksmith that finishing _some_ food was becoming increasingly important and _necessary_ for her health. Even so, it seemed that there was no number of minutes she could spend staring at this oatmeal and toast that would make it seem edible, much less appetizing, and she was quickly regretting not dealing with this problem sooner.

The sound of knocking at her door invoked a now Pavlovian sense of frustrated fury, but even _that_ provided the relief of a distraction from the seemingly impossible chore she was now facing, and she knew she was hardly in any place to be picky about her excuses. Standing to answer the door seemed to be a Herculean task in and of itself, however, as dizziness quickly overtook her and forced her to maintain a solid grip on the table until it passed. The knocking waited, growing in its volume the longer she took, and it was pure irritation that granted Audrey the willpower to make it down the stairs. 

A quick look out the peephole of the door when she finally _got_ to it was enough to communicate the situation as it was more clearly than any conversation; she had arrived just in time to see the young artisan's dejected and tired expression before he turned with open resignation to leave again. The look on his face was enough to bring her hand to the doorknob in an effort to stop him and comfort him, but logic stopped her; what reassurance did she have to offer, anyway? She wouldn't speak with Alexander, she couldn't -- she had hardly collected herself enough to handle that without lashing out and making a fool of herself as she had so few days ago. And if she wouldn't comply, all she could offer Cog was frustration and disappointment. Stopping him would make no difference. She turned around to do the same; retreat.

Cleaning the mess that had been her apartment for the past five days was enough to distract her from her emotions and her breakfast, but once everything was as immaculate as it once had been, she was left in the same position was before -- and staring at the wooden countertop in her kitchen revealed no solutions to her problems. A quick glance at the abundance of empty liquor bottles, now rinsed and lined up nicely, was enough to make her nauseous with shame alone; but the only solution to that shame, in her mind, was the repetition of the cause of it. She knew without looking that there was only one bottle remaining in her cupboard, and with one conflicted motion, she pulled herself away from it. 

She flopped her tired body down onto her bed instead, shivering at the feeling of her hair still wet from her shower. Her work was finished, and it was the weekend; there were no obligations preventing her from simply returning to the slumber that kept her from thinking about recent revelations. Audrey pulled the blankets around her once more, rolling over and snuggling into her pillows, hugging one to her as if it would offer the comfort of a human being. 

When her eyes closed, all she saw was the cold disconnect in the ambassador's eyes, how little he even _cared_ about what he had done. She opened them again, releasing a tired sigh. She didn't understand -- she _couldn't_ , when she was so consistently keeping herself from thinking about it for any significant amount of time. Why bother 'saving' her if he had been the cause of the danger all along? Did he go through all of that effort, all of the _trauma_ he had put her through, just to keep her in his debt to be _used_ later on? When she thought about her _friend_ , the one she'd cared so much for in her younger years, the idea seemed impossible. But when she thought about the man she had only recently come to know despite their past, Audrey had no doubts.

She closed her eyes again, refusing to think of any alternatives, any motivations he may have had; this would be much easier if she could settle on fury. Settle on blaming him, on feeling no sympathy or understanding towards him _or_ his reasons. If she could keep it simple, she could manage it. As she drifted to sleep, Audrey clung to her anger like a lifeline, and it comforted her as it always had.

\--

When the sound of knocking finally roused her once more, the blacksmith awoke in panicked confusion; had she slept through another day? Was Cog already back? No -- the clearer her mind became from the haze of her sleep, the clearer it became that that was not the case. Switch was still asleep on the floor, and her breakfast was still on the table, untouched by the dog; that alone meant that no more than a few hours could have passed, judging from the canine's appetite and apparent lack of manners. Aside from that, the knocking on the door was much harder, much sterner; the implications that came with that realization were enough to replace her confusion with chart-topping anxiety. 

She hoped that if she waited, he would go away. The sound of her door being blatantly unlocked proved her wrong in a matter of seconds. Several ideas passed through her head; there was an array of hand-made weaponry under her bed and in her closet, and her panic almost had her reaching for them. But she didn't _want_ to hurt him, she didn't want the _consequences_ of hurting him, and she didn't believe that she actually _could_ ; instead, she settled on the much more childish approach of rolling back into her blankets and pretending to be asleep. At least that way, he would have a harder time seeing her fear. _She hoped_. 

The sound of shoes hitting hardwood became clearer and clearer, and from the sound of him almost _stomping_ up the stairs, she knew she had now wholly _killed _his patience with her. When his footsteps reached the foot of her bed, she wanted to vomit; it seemed to be a recurring theme in her life this week, but this was the first time _panic_ had been the cause.__

Her blankets were ripped away from her in one swift motion, and seconds passed before she could bring herself to stop curling in on herself and look at him. Amethyst eyes met her gaze with a coldness even she couldn't have anticipated, and she sat up and waited for his remonstrations. She did not wait long. 

**"Your childishness is shocking, Audrey; I had higher expectations of you. This is hardly any way to deal with conflict, and I have spent too long already indulging your immaturity. Do you honestly expect to be able to run away from _all_ of your problems?"** His tone was not as harsh as she had expected, despite the sternness of his words. 

Still, he was met with silence, and released an irritated sigh before continuing.

**"You were _not_ supposed to learn of this in these circumstances, and for that, I apologize. I am _more_ than willing to offer an explanation for my actions, should you muster up the maturity to listen--"**

With impulse she regretted the moment she acted on it, the blacksmith offered him nothing but a glare before spitting at the ground before his feet.

The deathly silence that followed was enough to petrify her with fear, and Audrey watched with slowly widening eyes as his expression darkened. She hadn't even the time to apologize before she felt herself being lifted into the air without warning, only beginning to register _what_ exactly was holding her once she was already restrained; powder blue eyes darted around with unadulterated panic as they took in the sight of _hands_ , glowing a _menacing_ purple, that seemed to extend from the back of none other than Alexander himself.

His voice, completely devoid of the patience it had moments before, cut her off before she had a chance to speak.

**"I have been _more_ than generous with my terms thus far, Audrey; your complete and utter disregard for that generosity has very _quickly_ worn my patience down to nothing. And before you dare even _comment_ on our current situation, _consider the position you're in_."**

Her mouth shut, simply nodding as she waited in open _shock_ for him to continue. He was right. There was nothing she could do, with the information and _proof_ he had of her own guilt.

**"Good. Now, you _clearly_ cannot be expected to follow _orders_ , and you have lost the privilege of staying in the comfort and _freedom_ of your own home. I have tolerated more disrespect from you than is even _vaguely_ acceptable, and that is coming to an end _now_. You will be staying in the fortress where I can _maintain our contract_ without _unnecessary obstacles_ ; I have already arranged for a room to be made up for you. You may continue your work from there when it does not interfere with what is expected of you. _Am I clear_?"**

A weak nod was all the blacksmith could manage, too shocked and _terrified_ by the sudden and immense influx of information to process or function past that. Seconds later, the hands that held her disappeared altogether, dropping her harshly back onto the bed. When her eyes finally focused on the diplomat once more, he was already turning to leave.

**"Pack your things, _quickly_ ; you have wasted enough of my patience. I'll be waiting downstairs."**


End file.
